


Ya Feel Me?

by yodasyoyo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale pack, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Hypothermia, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Sappy Shit, Spark!Stiles, brief kate argent appearance, stiles and derek are the same age, stilinski's are part of the hale pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: Frankly, Stiles is beginning to wonder if being stupidly hot is a requirement for werewolfdom, or whether it’s just a requirement for the Hale pack in particular. They’re all aggressively attractive. Stiles’ poor bi heart can’t cope.





	Ya Feel Me?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I haven't successfully written anything in a few weeks, and then today I just thought to myself: Stiles is so good at reading people instinctively-- like understanding whether they're good or bad or whatever. What if part of his 'spark' powers included some kind of empathic ability.
> 
> And then I thought... and what if Derek is the same age as Stiles and Scott, and he's crushing so hard on Stiles that Kate decides to go after Laura instead.
> 
> Low and behold this wee ficlet was born.
> 
> I apologize for nothing. LOL.

“How long is this gonna take?” Stiles taps his fingers against his knee as he stares out the window of his Jeep. “I have a math test to revise for, y’know?”

“I know that, Stiles. Geeze. I’m in the same class you are.” Derek’s brow wrinkles adorably.

Not long ago it wouldn’t have crossed Stiles’ mind to call Derek Hale adorable. For the first couple years of high school he’d assumed Derek was just another hot, arrogant, jerk, jock.

Jock, jerk.

Jork.

Stiles sniggers a little, and Derek glares at him. He really is kinda hot when he glares.

Adorably hot.

Stiles is man enough to admit that.

Not out loud-- but to himself.  
  
Ugh. Unrequited crushes are the worst.

“You want me to ask you some questions while we wait?” Derek says with a sigh. He’s wearing his leather jacket, and has his arms folded across his chest. Even though it’s dark out, by the faint orange glow of a nearby streetlamp, Stiles likes to imagine he can see muscles bunching.

He licks his lip self-consciously. “Nah,” he says. “It can wait.”

“Hmmf.” Derek sounds disgruntled, but he lets it slide, and Stiles turns his head to stare out of the Jeep’s window, and away from Derek Hale and all his improbably hot, muscled, werewolf everything.

After all, if he gets an awkward boner in the car Derek’s gonna be able to sniff it out on him.

God. It’s unfair is what it is.

Frankly, Stiles is beginning to wonder if being stupidly hot is a requirement for werewolfdom, or whether it’s just a requirement for the Hale pack in particular. They’re all aggressively attractive. Stiles’ poor, bi, heart can’t cope.

And Derek? Well, he might be the most attractive one of all.

It’s been a year since Stiles found out that werewolves existed after a rogue alpha bit Scott when they were dicking about in the preserve one night.

Talia Hale, who is Derek’s mom and the alpha of Beacon Hills, dealt with the rogue alpha in question and then invited Scott into her pack, and Stiles kinda took it upon himself to join too. After all, he and Scott had been inseparable since they were five years old, so there was no way Scott’s furry little problem was gonna come between them.

Then, a couple months later, when Stiles had insisted on gatecrashing a fight with a wendigo, he’d managed to manipulate some mountain ash and save the day, and Deaton, the Hale pack emissary, had announced that Stiles was a spark.

At first the spark thing had been confusing and awesome and vaguely terrifying, but in a nutshell it meant he had the potential to perform some low level magic and had some latent empathic abilities.

Since discovering his inner sparkitude, Stiles has gone from pack-hanger-on who is sort of tolerated, to fully functioning member. The Hales have told his dad about everything, and the Stilinski’s have been welcomed in with open arms. Stiles trains with Deaton, gets invited to pack stuff, and spends a ton of time at the Hale house around all the attractive werewolves as often as he wants, which is weird and cool, and involves a lot more hugging and sniffing and scent-marking than he’d initially realized it would.

But it’s fine. He’s fine with it. Because he’s part of something, y’know? And they all seem to accept him--

Well-- except for Derek.

No. That’s not fair. Derek accepts him. He talks to Stiles, and looks out for him, and bickers with him endlessly. There’s no question that they’re pack, it’s just--

There’s no touching.

Ever.

No cuddling, or sniffing, or casual brushing up against each other.

And it’s so fucking obvious precisely because every other member of the pack does that shit to Stiles all the time.

Hell, Derek does it to other pack members-- but not to Stiles.

Stiles figures maybe Derek knows about his crush. He can probably smell it on him, and that’s why he’s keeping his distance. He’s probably trying not to give Stiles false hope or some shit like that. Or maybe Stiles’ feelings makes him uncomfortable. It’s difficult to say.

Either way though, when Derek asked him to come on a super-secret-stakeout that Talia definitely doesn’t know about, it’d been kind of surprising.

“Look, there she is--” Derek starts forward, peering out the Jeep’s window at the blonde woman who has just come out of the Arby’s.

“Ok. Ok.” Stiles leans over into Derek’s space so he can get a better look, and doesn’t miss the way Derek moves away immediately-- which is ridiculous. They’re in a car. There is literally nowhere to go. Stiles clamps down on his injured feelings and lets out a sigh.

“Can you get a read off of her?” Derek asks.

“That’s what you want me to do? From here?” Stiles looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you serious? Dude, maybe if I talk to her and, like, touch her hand or something.” Even then it’s not guaranteed. He’s been practicing with Deaton but his supposed empathic powers haven’t really developed much beyond being able to sense big primal emotions. If someones super happy or super sad, he can touch their hand and probably catch a sense of it. The thing is, if someone is really happy or really sad, it’s generally pretty fucking obvious without empathic powers, so, they’re a teeny bit useless really. Not that Stiles is complaining. Much.

Jaw clenching, Derek’s eyes narrow. “Well we need to know. Laura’s-- she’s not--I--There’s something about that woman, ok--” He jabs one finger at the figure crossing the parking lot.

“Are you sure you’re not just being an overprotective brother? Your twin sister doesn’t have to tell you who she’s dating, dude.”

“If Scott started acting all squirrely and anxious and refused to talk about the person he was seeing--”

“I would respect his choices.” Derek snorts derisively, and Stiles can’t help the blush that rises on his cheeks. Ok. Maybe Derek does have a point. “Fucking fine,” he snaps. “Stay in the car.”

He goes to undo his seat belt, but immediately Derek reaches and grabs his arm, fingers bunching in the plaid of Stiles’ shirt. “What are you doing?”

It’s so unexpected, Stiles can’t help but stare down at where Derek’s gripping him, and after a moment, Derek clears his throat awkwardly and snatches his hand back.

“Sorry,” he says, gruffly.

Stiles lifts his head to look at him, and it’s difficult to tell in this light, but he’s pretty sure Derek’s blushing.

“I’m uh--” Stiles swallows. “I’m just gonna go get a read on her.”

“But--” Derek looks pained. “What if I’m right? That’s too dangerous.”

“You want to find out if you can trust her?” Stiles says slowly. “Then I need to get closer.”

“Fuck.” Derek’s fingers grip his own knees, knuckles whitening. “Fuck,” he says again, gaze sliding to follow the blonde woman as she walks across the parking lot. “Ok. I’m coming with you.”

“Derek, she’s probably not evil, it’s--”

“No arguments.”

“Ugh. Fine.” They both scramble from the Jeep, slamming their respective door's shut. “Ok,” Stiles mumbles, knowing Derek can hear him. “Just follow my lead.”

Picking a path across the parking lot that he knows is gonna intercept the woman, he says, loudly. “That’s so typical of you, dude. You can’t admit when you’re wrong.”

Derek glares at him, quickening his stride to keep up, and hisses, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that lacrosse is a better game. It’s nuanced. It’s more--I don't know --elegant.” This is a familiar argument. One they’ve had frequently over the last few months, and Stiles sees the moment realization hits and Derek gets with the program.

“Lacrosse isn’t in the same league as basketball.”

“Well you would say that--” Stiles says, one eye on their target. “But let’s be real here, we both know--”

“Varsity basketball player-” Derek gestures to himself, then smirks at Stiles. “--Don’t you just warm the bench in lacrosse?”

“That’s a cheap shot,” Stiles flails. “But if I wanted to play basketball I could probably be on the team--” He cocks his head and feins thoughtfulness. “I think it’s just easier and--oh god, I’m so sorry.”

He’s crashed right into her, his hand brushing against hers. Skin against skin. Just like he planned, and she stumbles back a step.

“Watch where you’re going,” she snaps.

“Sorry. Yeah. My fault.” Stiles lifts his hands in the universal gesture for mea culpa. He's trying and failing to keep calm, because suddenly it’s like a block of ice is sitting in his stomach, and he can only hope he doesn’t look as pale and shaken as he feels.

She stares at him, and then at Derek. She’s in her late teens or very early twenties. Probably. Tawny blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders. As she stares at him her lips twitch up, pretty and-- strangely empty. Now he’s touched her he can see it’s bleeding off her in waves, negative space like an aura, bitter and cold. Ice blue eyes and a dead smile.

Stiles backs up toward Derek, who is warm, and solid, and standing right there behind him.

“Ok, well--” Stiles says, voice coming out a little higher pitched than usual. “Have a good evening, and sorry, again.” He grabs Derek’s leather-clad arm and all but drags him into the Arby’s; he’s pretty sure he can feel the weight of the woman’s lizard stare on his back.

“What are we doing?” Derek murmurs.

Stiles doesn’t bother to reply. Just steams through the front door and, finally letting go of Derek’s arm, slams himself down into the nearest empty chair. That cold, empty feeling isn’t dissipating, if anything it’s getting worse. His teeth are beginning to chatter.

After a beat, Derek sits across from him. “So,” he says.

“You’re sure Laura is dating her?” Stiles says, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Derek nods curtly. “Why?” He glances down at Stiles’ hands, which are slowly turning blue. “Are you ok?”

Stiles ignores the question and instead chances a glance out of the window and sees the woman climbing into an old, gray Dodge.

“Can you see her license plate from here?”

Frowning, Derek glances out the window, nods again.

“Make a note.”

“So I’m right--” Derek says. “She’s--not good?”

“I don’t like her.” Stiles is outright shivering now, that cold feeling still spreading. “She’s like a reptile or a robot or something. Really weird.” Except she isn’t either of those things, she’s a person, a normal person, just devoid of normal person-type feeling. Usually if he tries to read someone he gets a little buzz of something, emotions coming through like radio static, fuzzy and indistinct. With her there was nothing but an arctic wasteland of emptiness.

“Hmm.” Derek gnaws at his lip, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I should speak to Laura.”

“Wait.” Stiles lifts one shaking hand. “L-Let’s g-get my D-Dad to r-run her p-plate. Then we can get a bit more information about her-- like-- oh-- I don’t know-- her n-n-name, or something?”

“Seriously, Stiles, what’s going on with you?” Derek looks pissed.

“I d-don’t k-know, o-ok?” Stiles wraps his arms around himself, hugging himself awkwardly. “She was so cold and empty. I can’t--” He blinks. Swallows. “I c-can’t seem to g-get w-warm.”

Derek glares at him, but it’s an anxious sort of glare, Stiles can tell. After a moment he blows out a sigh. “Here,” he says, shucking his jacket. “Have this.”

Stiles takes it awkwardly, and wrestles it on. It’s warm, and it smells amazing, but it’s not enough. Like the cold is coming from inside him.

“Y-You should c-call my dad,” he says. “G-Get him to r-run the p-plate.”

“Stiles--”

“D-Do it.”

Derek gets his phone out and makes the call, worried eyes on Stiles the entire time. Stiles’ dad searches the plate while Derek’s on the line. Apparently the woman’s name is Kate Argent. She has a previous record. Stiles can just make out his dad’s voice over the phone saying, “Don’t you guys follow her, ok? I’ll speak to Talia. We’ll take it from here.”

When Derek finally hangs up, he’s on his feet. “You look awful,” he says flatly. “Let me get you a drink. Coffee or--”

Stiles shakes his head-- knows instinctively that that won’t make a difference. He has a pretty good idea what will, but-- oh god-- he doesn’t want to say it out loud. Not to Derek.

“I--I’ll be f-fine,” he stutters, pulling Derek’s leather jacket round himself tighter. “L-Let’s g-get b-back to the c-car.”

“But--”

“Th-The c-car.” He goes to stand, takes a few steps, but he can’t stop shaking. Derek stands too, hovering next to him. Looking over at him, Stiles can see he’s wide-eyed, and scared. Unfortunately Derek’s the kind of person who sublimates fear into annoyance.

“You're so fucking stubborn. God, I should call Deaton, or--”

“N-No. You j-just need t-to--” Stiles swallows.

“What?”

Biting down on his embarrassment Stiles ducks his head and says meekly, “W-would you hold m-my h-hand?” He has a feeling if he can just get a read on someone else it could, maybe, hopefully, overwrite whatever touching this Kate woman did to him.

Derek doesn’t say anything at first, but when Stiles looks over at him, he feels himself sag in disappointment. Everything about Derek screams reluctance, from his hunched shoulders, to the way his eyes are scrunched shut like he’s braced for a crash.

“S-S’okay,” Stiles babbles, the tremors coming even harder. “D-Don’ w-worry, I-I-I’ll--” He tries to take another step forward, but his legs are suddenly weak, and wobbly as jello, and in that moment he’s not sure if it’s an effect of the freezing cold that’s spreading through him, or whether it’s the sheer, crushing disappointment of rejection. Stepping forward and away from Derek he stumbles, almost trips, and immediately Derek’s there, grabbing his arm.

With a deep breath he reaches out slowly, purposefully, and takes Stiles’ hand.

Stiles is too shocked to speak. Just stares down at where skin meets skin.

This. This is not what he expected.

Not at all.

Tendrils of golden warmth are spreading up Stiles’ arm, chasing the cold away, melting it. Killing it stone dead. He can’t see them per se, but he can feel them, can feel what they represent in a way he’s never been able to with anyone else before.

“Y-You like me. Like. You _like_ like me,” he blurts out. “Oh my g-god.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek grits. He’s blushing, won’t meet Stiles’ eye, and suddenly it all makes sense.

“T-This is w-why you never touched me b-before! Because you were worried I’d accidentally read you and find out. Oh my god. Oh. My. God.”

“I’m going to kill you.” Derek’s words might threaten murder, but Stiles can feel his actual feelings, every ounce of grudging, frustrated affection, all laced with a hint of anxiety, because-- oh god-- Stiles hasn’t said anything back.

Reaching up with his free arm, he cups the back of Derek’s head and launches himself forward clumsily, kissing him.

Derek makes a weird, broken noise in the back of his throat, and immediately kisses him back.

When they finally separate Stiles feels warm. Happy. Safe. No hint of cold left. Derek’s flushed pink, and almost smiling.

“I can’t believe you like me,” Stiles says, grinning like a loon.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Derek grumbles, and pulls him in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you leave kudos or a comment I'm eternally grateful. You guys are the true MVP's <3 <3


End file.
